


This Sun Can't Set Just Yet

by priellan (irinokat)



Category: Pacific Rim (2013)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Biting, Blood Drinking, Canonical Character Death, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-02
Updated: 2014-06-02
Packaged: 2018-02-03 02:56:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1728545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/irinokat/pseuds/priellan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hermann Gottlieb doesn't want the world to end just yet - he's only two hundred years old, after all. But being an immortal in a finite world is more difficult than he thought it would be, especially when a certain Dr. Geiszler decides to step into his life. (Art by <a href="http://geniusbee.tumblr.com/post/87568348522/sorry-for-the-long-post-my-pieces-for-the">geniusbee</a>)</p>
            </blockquote>





	This Sun Can't Set Just Yet

**Author's Note:**

> My fic for the Pacific Rim 2014 Mini-Bang! AKA the self-indulgent vampire!Hermann fic. Many thanks to geniusbee for her wonderful artwork! Go check it out on Tumblr at the link above, she did an amazing job and her time and effort really needs appreciation. Thanks also to alienfirst and pickle-plum for betaing.

Hermann is as shocked as anyone when the first kaiju makes landfall in San Francisco. Sure, he’s seen his fair share of monsters, more than he’d ever wished he had. There’s the ones like him and the werewolves and such that can hide themselves in plain sight, more or less; there’s the ones that are more beastly, the creatures in the night that leave few survivors to spread tales, until they become legends, spread few and far between, in the face of advancing human civilization and technology; and of course, there’s always the worst of the normal human and animal kingdoms, the ones that are so bad and hurt so many that he begins to wonder if they’re their own special kind of monster sometimes. But there’s never been anything like this.

And he hopes there never will be anything like this again. But the Phillipines and Cabo dash any faint traces of naive hypothesizing that the first attack was some kind of freak accident that would never happen again. And Hermann feels he’s got to do something about it. So he follows any signs of research or planning that turns up, and when the Seoul conference is made official, he announces that he’s going, to the consternation of his “father,” Lars.

“Why can’t you just stay here?” the man demands when Hermann appears in his large, almost mansion of a home in Berlin. It’s one of the traits Hermann both loves and hates about being one of… his kind; being able to simply vanish and pop up in places he’s been before is nice and efficient, but it also means Lars and Bastien can pop into his flat whenever they feel like it and without warning. At least Karla and Dietrich e-mail him first these days. “There’s plenty of work to be done where it’s safe.”

“This is a global issue and we will only reach a conclusion that will truly work if we come together,” Hermann says, choosing not to point out that all the latest research and ideas will hit the conference weeks before it hits the internet or any of the European research facilities. He needs more data if he’s going to get any idea of what’s going on.

“It’s a Pacific problem and the Pacific can take care of itself,” Lars says dismissively.

“Is that what you said when Japan first invaded China?” Hermann asks coolly.

“It’s not the same thing at all,” Lars says, “And besides, Europe was already in an uproar then.”

“So I shouldn’t do anything until this directly affects Europe.” _And consequently, you,_ Hermann thinks. “Even though we are feeling the indirect effects already. Shall I wait until the Atlantic coasts are flooded with people and the economic effects are too far gone to fix at all?”

“You’ll just twist everything I say,” Lars says, waving one hand at him, dismissing him. “Do try not to get sun poisoning.”

“Enjoy yourself and your things,” Hermann says, stepping away and back into his own flat. So much for convincing Lars to do anything useful. Oh, sure, he might pontificate from afar, contribute money or something or another - they both enjoy living too much to do nothing - but would it really be so much to ask to actually put his considerable talents to work?

Hopefully, Hermann will have a good amount of time to change his mind.

\---

Hermann is surprised to get the first letter. It’s actually sent to his “father;” even though Hermann’s the one actually doing something, Lars’s name is more well-known thanks to his financial influence. Hardly anyone knows where Hermann lives these days, but Lars Gottlieb can be found. So when Lars suddenly appears in his flat’s kitchen as he makes a cup of tea, he thinks it’s just a visit to make sure he didn’t die in South Korea. Instead, he finds the man staring at an envelope covered in far too many stamps. “Who is this Newton Geiszler?” Lars asks suspiciously.

Hermann glances at the envelope, sees it’s for him, and promptly snatches it out of Lars’s hand. “If I knew, he would have sent the letter here, wouldn’t he?” he asks as he studies it. The handwriting on the front isn’t neat, but it’s legible; it also shows someone trying far too hard. Hermann shudders to think of what the writing on the letter inside will look like. He can’t tell if the number of stamps present is some idiosyncrasy or joke of the sender, or if the man seriously had no idea how many stamps it would take to send a letter from Boston to Berlin. Perhaps this is some child’s idea; he’s certainly heard his share of criticisms for being childish over agreeing with the giant robot presentation at the Seoul conference. Perhaps a young man had latched onto the idea and sent him a letter of support.

At first the thing certainly seems like it’s from a child. It’s actually typed, thank goodness, and while it’s slightly more professional than Hermann would expect from some Japanese TV-show superfan, Newton Geiszler can’t seem to stop himself from using phrases like “fucking awesome” and “seriously lame” to describe things, or comparing the situation to obscure Japanese movies that Hermann has to research online to even begin to understand, or complaining that he couldn’t find Hermann’s e-mail address anywhere.

Once Hermann manages to get past that, however, he finds several pages both praising and criticizing the work he’s done so far. This Mr. - no, Dr., this person has somehow managed to obtain doctorates and drop references to them repeatedly - Dr. Geiszler might not have a head for mathematics, but his suggestions about what the robots’ specs should be, given the size of the kaiju and what can be made of their anatomy from currently available samples, actually aren’t that bad. Hermann finds himself intrigued and wonders why Geiszler wasn’t at the conference.

After looking him up, Hermann wonders how the man is managing to teach so many classes and get so much work done at the same time, let alone have a life. He’s currently one of the top researchers and one of the few to publish a paper so far on kaiju physiology, on top of six doctorates and working as a professor at MIT. Hermann begins to wonder if the man is an immortal who just likes to show off, considering how “young” he supposedly started college. Surely no one could do all of this by their late twenties. But no matter how hard he searches, Hermann can’t find the usual signs that this is some kind of pseudonym or that the articles from Geiszler’s teens are falsified.

And he’s contacting Hermann to give ideas? How has Hermann not heard of him before now? Well, separate fields, he supposes. They probably never would have interacted if it weren’t for the current monster situation. Though Hermann can plainly see Geiszler’s wonder at the kaiju through the way he speaks of them; he’s almost reverent, which is a little bit frightening. Hopefully he’s not insane. Hermann wonders what the man would do if he had any idea that other “unheard-of” beings existed, but it’s not worth putting his own lifestyle at risk just to see what one man would do.

He spends the next week thinking of and writing a response to Geiszler, handwriting the letter as neatly as he can to spite the scrawl on the front of the ridiculous envelope. Surprisingly, it only takes Geiszler about a week and a half or so to respond to that, this time with his own awful penmanship on notebook paper that’s already yellowed with age. Hermann wonders if he scrounged it up from his grade-school years. This letter was clearly penned whenever Geiszler could find the time; he switches subjects without so much as a segue, sometimes changing thoughts in the middle of a paragraph. But again, his ideas are good. And he complains again that Hermann doesn’t seem to have e-mail.

Hermann sends a response back saying that he prefers regular mail and lamenting the time when it was the normal correspondence. He also sends out letters to the heads of the robot project, currently being dubbed the Jaeger Initiative by the people working on it, and the tentatively named Pan Pacific Alliance, a new organization being formed to spearhead the project and other such defenses by the countries that have already been attacked or fear they might be next. As much as Hermann finds that, to his surprise, he’s enjoying the letters with this Geiszler fellow, he suspects the man’s talents would be more useful elsewhere.

Two weeks later, Hermann receives a missive calling him a dinosaur. He writes back calling Geiszler a kaiju fanatic and thus begins what he looks back on as their first fight. Not that their fights have ever stopped since then.

It takes a year and a half (and by now they have switched to e-mail thanks to Geiszler’s trips to review kaiju remains and Hermann’s regular consultation with the Jaeger project) for Geiszler to suggest they meet. Hermann has to think for a long time about this; agreeing to meet a single human, most likely during the daytime, is just asking for trouble. He can manage to a degree when he has to do consultation and face-to-face work; it involves bundling up and wearing a lot of hats and sunglasses that get him called an old man, but he can manage when he’s forced to be outside during the daytime. Thank god science has discovered so many strange diseases over the last several years, and that his leg can help play into it; he can mutter something vague about this disorder or that syndrome and most people will weakly smile and stop asking questions. (Well, they stop asking after he tells them they’re rude, at least.) He’s never been more grateful for his accident in his life.

But Geiszler knows enough about the human body to be able to tell he’s lying if he tries this in front of him, and he doubts that Geiszler will agree to completely shift schedules just to accommodate his need for darkness. Though if they meet in the US, perhaps Hermann can claim something about jetlag (which he might actually experience, seeing as he’s never been to Boston before and can’t just whisk himself away across the ocean), or he could take advantage of Geiszler’s if they meet somewhere in Europe…

He writes back something that he hopes sounds positive but non-committal and promises himself that he’ll think of a way to work this, putting off any thoughts about it until Geiszler manages to find a joint UN-PPA conference for scientists and other supporters in Europe that he has the time to attend and Hermann can’t find any reasonable excuses not to go. His conscience (and another piece of himself that he won’t admit to that has a little too much influence right now) won’t let him skip this, no matter how inconvenient it is and how many layers he may end up wearing to keep himself from passing out or bursting into dust and scattering in the wind.

Hermann knows there are feelings here, feelings he should probably address before he lets himself get hurt the way he always has when he’s attached himself to mortals before, but he just ignores them as he usually does when faced with a situation like this. He knows he’s never been the brightest when it comes to emotional intelligence. He also knows he should probably make an attempt to fix this at some point before the poison of his previous aches slowly eats and destroys him, the way it’s killed some other immortal creatures, but why deal with it when he’s gotten so good at suppressing it? There are far more important matters at hand than his love life or lack thereof.

Besides, this will go how it always has. Geiszler will think he’s some kind of freak, reject him, and cut off contact. Hermann knows this. That’s the only way such things go for him. He’s pretty sure he knows how to handle that particular heartache by now. He only wishes he’d noticed and squashed the feelings earlier so he wouldn’t be dealing with them now, but oh well. They’ll just be somewhat harder to deal with when the inevitable occurs. It’s probably for the best, anyway; mortals and immortals just really can’t make it work, long-term.

That doesn’t make it any easier when his anxiety builds as the conference date draws nearer, or when he keeps finding himself practicing good, sociable things to say in his head on the train to Bern.

Once he’s inside the hotel, Hermann finds himself nervously looking himself over again and again, wishing for the billionth time that he could just look in a mirror and just straighten himself out there. Normally he doesn’t even care, but now keeping his collar and cuffs aligned seems to be the only thing keeping him anchored and his thoughts from spiraling off into the inevitable hopelessness of starting a face-to-face relationship with Geiszler. Newton, he corrects himself, he’s been told that over and over in the e-mails - Newton hates the formality of using his title. Hermann can’t quite bring himself to call someone he hasn’t actually met in real life a strange pet name like Newt, but he thinks he’ll be able to manage Newton.

A few hours before they’re supposed to meet in the hotel lobby, Hermann boards the elevator and heads down, silently thanking the designers that this place isn’t a hell full of mirrors that might reveal him, as some modern hotels seem bent on exposing vampires with every possible design feature. It’s a small detail, but it’s one people seem to pick up on, much more than the teeth or sudden, strange disappearances that their minds can easily make excuses for. He should probably just wait in his room, seeing as the conference hasn’t started yet and it might look strange to Gei - Newton if he looks like he’s been waiting around, but he doesn’t really know what else to do. Besides, maybe he can find someone and get a quick snack in before he meets Newton; he’s fairly certain he doesn’t need blood but it never hurts to make sure, especially considering how strange he starts acting when he’s getting too low.

For a moment he looks around for Newton’s “signal” - a red pocket square tucked into his button-up shirt pocket. He and Newton decided against using photos to identify each other - Newt had joked that there are already too many of him on the internet, though the only ones Hermann can dig up are at least five years old and of an awkward, gawky, short teenager holding up a diploma, and Hermann’s fine with not using photos since he hates documenting himself in any way. The risk of pictures showing up on the internet and making people suspicious is just too high these days. He tries to remember if he’s ever mentioned the cane and hopes it’s not too surprising if he hasn’t - he doesn’t really like talking about his disability, any more than he likes discussing the problems vampirism causes him with humans. He doesn’t see anything like a pocket square or a handkerchief on the few people scattered around the lobby, either waiting for someone the way he is or using the wi-fi in a spot where they don’t have to pay exorbitant prices for it.

He does, however, hear someone swear under their breath in German at their iPad. Hm. Perhaps someone he could make conversation with. He’s not a fan of feeding off people he’s never talked to; it feels too impersonal and he likes to have at least some gauge of their health before he takes a “donation” from them. (Not that it’s always easy to tell if someone has a blood-borne disease or anemia just from talking, but it’s better than just sneaking up on someone in the dead of night and pouncing. That’s what he tells himself, anyways.)

He has second thoughts when he locates the man who muttered. His hair has far too much gel in it and there are tattoos poking out from under his worn Dead Kennedys t-shirt, ending at his elbows but seeming far too garishly colorful to be in any way tasteful. His jeans are far too tight and his boots - Hermann can’t remember what they’re called but he remembers seeing quite a lot of them in the 70s - are far too large. In contrast with the punk style of his clothing, the man’s chunky glasses slide down his nose, the style what Hermann believes Bastien would snidely call “too hipster” these days. Hermann follows the line of them to his wild stubble - this person has obviously not shaved in a few days. At least he’s showered, or Hermann wouldn’t be able to stand the body odor from across the lobby.

And yet Hermann can’t help but find him attractive. He will never understand attraction. He sometimes wishes it would just go away, especially since he’s rarely attracted to immortals or anyone who won’t laugh him off at the mere thought of romance, but here it is and knowing him, it won’t pick itself up and leave anytime soon. And if all he’s going to do is feed, he might as well feed on someone he finds good looking.

<”You speak German?”> Hermann asks quietly, coming to stand next to the young man. Well, okay, he’s not… terribly young, probably in his mid-twenties, but that feels terribly young compared to Hermann’s two hundred. At least Hermann only looks thirty-ish, the age he was when he died (though he’s heard people argue that he looks older thanks to the premature lines in his face and call him an old man for his attitudes; he just sighs when he listens).

It takes a moment for the man to look up. He glances around at first, as if he would have no idea why Hermann is talking to him, before he settles on Hermann. To his credit, he only stares at the cane for a moment before finding Hermann’s face. <”Some, yeah,”> he says, a bit of laughter in his voice. His accent is… rough. <”From my childhood.”> He starts to tuck his iPad into a small back slung over his shoulder. <”You wanna sit?”>

<”I’m fine, thank you.”> Nice of him to offer. Hermann seems to have picked a good one, at least. It gives him a little bit of hope for the rest of today. <”Would you like to get drinks?”> he asks.

It takes the man a moment to process his words, but he gets it when Hermann flicks a finger towards the hotel restaurant and bar. <”Thanks, but no. Waiting on a friend.”> Hermann nods. He must have come with some friends. Maybe they’re backpacking or heading to the Alps or something. Or clubbing. Clubbing seems more this man’s style.

<”I am as well. Perhaps we could pass the time together.”>

The man gives an uneasy smile and says, <”Uh, gotta warn you, my German is not great.”> When Hermann nods, he asks, “Do you speak English?”

Oh, an American. He switches easily. “My second language, actually.”

The uneasy smile turns genuine and oh, this man is pretty when he smiles. “Sweet!” He practically bounces out of his seat and looks at the restaurant, thinking. “Y’know, I should totally save the drinking for later, but I’ve been on too many planes with shitty food today. Don’t think it’d hurt to grab a bite.”

 

“Not at all,” Hermann says agreeably. If it keeps him from passing out when Hermann feeds from him, he’ll take it.

The restaurant is nearly empty; it’s easy to find a table. Hermann barely glances at the menu, planning just to order some olives or a small glass of something while the man eats. It takes quite a lot for him (or any vampire) to get drunk, especially if he’s filling up on blood after; he won’t need to worry for when he meets up with Newton.

“So what brings you all the way to Switzerland?” Hermann asks as he puts the menu aside.

The man’s eyes light up. “Science, my man.” Hermann tries to hold back his surprise, but it obviously doesn’t work; the man’s smile becomes a bit strained. “I’m guessing you’re here for the conference, too?”

“Yes,” Hermann says, completely taken aback. Everyone had been fairly formal at the Seoul conference, but perhaps, he thinks, they just do things differently in America. Or maybe this is just what the man wore on the plane, though the clothes don’t look terribly comfortable to sit around all day in. Perhaps he’ll dress up less… casually when he attends the actual conference tomorrow. “Are you presenting anything?” He can’t imagine what the man would present on.

“Nah, just getting more info, representing MIT, y’know.” The man shrugs. MIT? Hm. Did Newton mention anyone else coming from his university? “They’re working on some aspects of the Jaeger project at a few of the places around us, and we’ve got some stuff to contribute about kaiju biology, but nothing like what people actually living on the Pacific side of things have to study.”

“Indeed.” Hermann’s not sure what to make of this. A sudden thought strikes him and the moment it passes through his mind, he hopes it’s not true.

While he thinks, the man asks, “So what’s got you interested? I take it you’re from around... here?” he says with a wide gesture, arms spread, as if that’s enough to indicate all of Europe.

“Global problems require global solutions,” Hermann says, “and I came here from London.” He wonders if that’s a spark of recognition in the man’s eyes or if he’s just telling himself that’s what it is.

“But English is your second language?”

“I’m originally from Germany, yes.” Well, what’s now Germany. At least it’s been Germany for such a long time now that he remembers what to call it; people used to give him odd looks for accidentally naming a country that hadn’t existed for fifty years or so.

The man nods slowly, staring at him. What, he hasn’t gone and said something stupid, has he? He doesn’t think so. “Hey, uh, dude, what’s your name?” the man asks slowly.

Oh dear. If this man’s had the same thought he had - but he can’t have, this can’t possibly be - but what if it is -

Hermann’s made a big mistake in all this, hasn’t he? Why didn’t he just agree to the damn photos? Would one really have hurt?

“Hermann Gottlieb,” he says quietly, watching the man’s eyes widen. “N-Newton?” The name still feels awkward even on his tongue. Who of all people would name their child Newton?

The look of surprise on the man - Newton’s face turns from surprise to another wide smile. Hermann finds himself staring at the man’s dimples. He can’t exactly identify what he’s feeling right now. Shock, most definitely, but there’s something else there. Discomfort? Dismay? Something within that family, it seems like. This is the man he’s been writing back and forth with? The one with the brilliant ideas and insights? The one with the sharp comebacks and six degrees?

“Oh my god.” Newton seems happy. “Oh my god!” He practically leaps out of his chair. Hermann wonders where he gets the energy from. Most people who’ve taken international flights recently are usually not this spirited, even if they have the energy and endurance of an immortal. Perhaps he’s a werewolf or something else young… but no, Hermann can’t smell any trace of anything less than human on him. Maybe this energy is what’s gotten him through so much of school already. Hermann can’t believe he’s so… young. He’s a professor at MIT? Who on earth decided it would be a good idea to let him teach?

At first Newton’s arms are out for what looks like a hug; Hermann tries not to cringe at the thought. Physical contact is not exactly his forte. Thankfully, Newton quickly changes to one hand extended, smile still beaming somehow, as if he’s not disappointed as well. Hermann wonders at this. How could he not be? Hermann knows he’s not what anyone would expect, what few people would want. So why is he still excited…?

Perhaps Hermann should try to look past this unexpected outcome as well. He shakes Newton’s hand, noting his firm grasp and more of the tattoo sticking out from under his sleeve - is it some kind of lizard, or monster?  He’s distracted when Newton says, “You… didn’t mention the cane.”

Tact. Newton doesn’t seem to have much. Some, but not much. “You didn’t mention the tattoos,” Hermann says simply, hoping his glare will be enough to stop that, as it usually is. To his gratitude, Newton switches topics easily, settling back in his seat and asking about something or another from the letters that they disagree on.

They pass the hours so quickly with eating, drinking and arguing that Hermann doesn’t notice how late it is until he finally looks towards the lobby and notices the darkness around the edges of the curtained windows. Newton’s also finally starting to yawn, his day catching up to him. “Perhaps you should get some rest,” Hermann suggests as he puts down money for his drinks. “Tomorrow will be a long day.” He wonders to himself if he’ll be able to find someone to feed on at this late an hour. Oh well, he can probably hold out until he can find someone at the conference tomorrow.

“Yeah,” Newton agrees, “first day’s always the worst.”

As he lays out some bills by the check, Hermann gets to his feet. “It was nice to meet you in person, finally.” It really did go better than he had expected, especially when he’d realized this… strange man was the Newton he’d been writing with.

“Yeah, man, it was good.” Is it just Hermann or does Newton sound… disappointed? He’s probably just hearing things. Or Newton really did find Hermann as underwhelming as Hermann had thought he would and was just better at hiding it until now. Hermann sighs and heads toward the elevator.

He blinks in surprise when he finds Newton waiting right next to him, standing just a little bit too close. Hermann’s not sure that he minds. “Guess we’re both going up, huh?” Newton says, voice shaky, sounding just a little bit awkward. He yawns again, trying his hardest to cover it with his hand.

“I suppose,” Hermann says, unsure whether he’s supposed to say something else. Thankfully, the dinging of the elevator interrupts him. They crowd into it - how is anyone expected to take luggage up in something this tiny? - and Newton presses one of the buttons. When he turns, Hermann expects him to ask for his floor, and instead, finds Newton on his toes, in his face. “Um,” Hermann says.

“Can I kiss you?” Newton asks, face flushed, eyes shining. Hermann stares at him, wondering where on earth this came from. Has he gotten this bad at reading signals - or this good at ignoring them? “Dude, I just - can I?”

Hermann opens his mouth, closes it, and then nods. Thank heavens this is the slowest elevator on earth - Newton leans in and suddenly one arm is around his waist and the other hand is on his cheek, pulling him in and he hasn’t moved his own hands from his cane but before he can even think about what to do with them, Newton’s nose is bumping against his and Newton’s lips cover and surround his and he sinks a little against Newton and oh god, this feels so much better than he remembers. He manages to get one arm around Newton’s shoulders and Newton’s nipping at his bottom lip when the elevator door opens and oh, right, Newton was going to his room, but Newton does not seem to want to move. They both groan a bit when Newton pulls away.

He puts his hand over the elevator door to hold it open and asks, “So uh, was that like a first date thing where we just call it a night, or is this like a third date thing where our first few dates were the letters and now we - just - uh - god, I want to call it fucking but something about that sounds wrong.”

“I have no idea,” Hermann says, wishing he had something more suave to say than the blunt truth, and Newton waits for more of an answer. Hermann bites his lip, remembers the feel of Newton’s skin on his, the sound of his blood rushing through his face… “Um. I am willing to… continue. This.” He gestures between them as if it somehow indicates everything between them, the tension, the expectations, even though it can’t that at all.

Newton’s sigh of relief and sagging against the door are almost funny. “Awesome, awesome.” He tries to lean forward and wrap his arm around Hermann’s waist and keep his foot wedged in the door because it is really insistent on shutting and nearly falls over. He covers his face as Hermann half-catches him, half falls himself, and suddenly they’re kneeling, leaning against each other as the elevator goes down. Newton drags his hand down, not looking at Hermann, and Hermann knows he’s embarrassed but oh, god, this is awkward and strange and Hermann can’t help but laugh a little. At least Newton kind of starts to laugh too, and they’re both trying to get their snickers under control as Hermann pulls himself up with his cane and grabs Newton. Somehow they manage to get to their feet and to Newton’s room without much more incident, though the receptionist does give them an odd look when he sees the elevator open on them still in it.

\---

Newt’s shirt is off and he’s struggling to kick his boots off without taking his hands off Hermann and Hermann’s trying to decide between unbuttoning his shirt and just ripping it off. It’s been so long since he’s been like this with anyone, he’d say too long but he hasn’t wanted to be like this with anyone in so much time… He happily sighs into Newton’s collarbone as Newton gives up, sits up, and starts tugging at his shoelaces. He feels Newton flinch under him and sits up straight himself, wondering what’s wrong, but Newton seems to be concentrating entirely on kicking his ridiculous boots off his feet.

He returns to Newton’s neck and kisses him roughly, thinks about sucking a bruise there, how lovely it would look against Newton’s pale skin. He’s always had a thing for necks and marks on necks, even before he was changed. Newton flinches again and Hermann comes up to look at him, finally asking, “Are you alright?”

“Yeah, just -” Newton rubs the spot where Hermann was kissing. “Maybe don’t dig your teeth in like that?”

“Oh, sorry,” Hermann mumbles. He licks his fangs unconsciously. Is Newton just sensitive or are they really that noticeable? Hopefully Newton won’t see them.

“Dude, it’s fine,” Newton says, putting up his hands. “Hickeys are cool, it’s just, uh, maybe not so… visible?”

Hermann smiles. He can handle that.

He doesn’t see the back tattoo until Newton says, “Oh, wait a sec, fuck,” and gets to his feet while at the same time wrestling his way out of his jeans. Hermann watches him, amused and amazed at the same time; how he hasn’t fallen over yet, Hermann has no idea. Then he looks up as Newton stumbles to his suitcase and watches the ink ripple over Newton’s muscles.

“Is that…?” He can’t quite find the words. Newton looks up from his frantic digging. “On your back,” Hermann says, pointing as if somehow that might help.

Newton curls up tighter, suddenly defensive. “It’s Trespasser.”

“Oh.” Hermann stares at it. The colors are just as ridiculously bold as the ones on his arms, but the stylization isn’t as cartoony, the monster more easily recognizable. “I didn’t realize that… um.”

Newton winces and turns, almost as if he’s trying to hide it - not that he can hide the mass of ink stretching between his shoulderblades. “Look, um, it’s not like - like a fetish, or something, okay? I just - I’ve worked on them, and I needed - I just…” He slumps.

“I don’t find it… unattractive,” Hermann says.

“Look, if I need to put my shirt back on,” Newton starts, and Hermann gets up at that.

“No, no,” he says, affronted, “it’s quite alright.” Before Newton can open his mouth again, Hermann starts to unbutton his pants. “I’m not… I still want to - well -” His erection comes free as he pulls his pants down, and he rather hopes it makes his point for him. Newton gives a shaky, wary smile and goes back to rooting through his suitcase, coming up with lube and condoms.

They somehow end up with Newton under Hermann, cock already hard as he rolls the condom over it. He takes care of Hermann’s for him, giving him a greedy look and a few pumps as he slides it on, getting Hermann moaning as Hermann kneels over him. As Newton warms an over-generous dollop of lube in his hand, Hermann bends down and licks Newton’s shoulder, trying to find a prime area that won’t be in sight under shirt collars tomorrow.  He picks a spot, opens his mouth, bites down.

Newton shouts at first, not expecting the pain. Hermann nearly pulls off, worried he’s done something wrong, but there’s no way, he’s done this too many times before. Sure enough, Newton goes limp under him, loud swearing giving way to a deep breath and then a moan as he tenses again. Hermann takes hold of his wrist and guides his wet hand between them before he can completely lose track of what they’re doing, groaning a little himself when Newton’s palm glides over his cock. Newton lazily holds and pumps them both as Hermann feeds.

Hermann pulls away when he feels Newton’s back arch and his chest sliding against his own. He doesn’t need much blood, and they’re already in the middle of sex; Newton doesn’t need much more to bring him over the edge. Hermann licks his lips, making sure they’re clean before he goes to Newton’s, kissing him, pressing his tongue to the roof of Newton’s mouth. Newton comes as Hermann tongue-fucks him, one hand fisted in Newton’s hair, the other pressed hard into his back, holding him close. When he finishes grinding against Hermann, he takes a moment to come back to himself and continue sliding his hand up and down Hermann’s shaft, mumbling, “Holy shit,” over and over again as he feels Hermann tense up in climax.

They lie against each other, breathing hard, as they recover, arms slung loosely around the other’s waist. Hermann can’t remember feeling quite this satisfied in some time. He buries his head in Newton’s chest, hoping the other man will just see a hickey in the morning and not question him further. They barely manage to get the condoms off or think much further before they fall asleep in a pile of tangled sheets and limbs.

\---

The rest of the conference is a whirlwind blur of maths, science, and sex. Even Hermann can’t recall much of the specifics later; he has to wonder how Newton sees it. As it draws to a close, their arguments grow louder, their fucking more frantic. Hermann finds himself more swept up into the excitement of it all than he ever expected himself to be, Newton’s energy seeming to infect him.

As they lie together the last night, this time in Hermann’s bed, Newton asks, “So, uh, what exactly does this mean?” Hermann looks over at him. “For us?”

“I… don’t know.” Hermann’s had a lot of time to think about it, seeing how little he sleeps, but it’s still a question that puzzles him.

“I mean, I’ve still got my teaching contract.” Newton’s said plenty already about Boston in both his letters and their conversations; it’s clear he loves the city, the college, his current life in general.

Hermann thinks about it. “I’m still in London for now,” he says, “but I suppose with the Jaeger project I could be moved - well, anywhere.” Somehow he’s found himself gravitating toward the center of the Jaeger project; a few well-meaning questions about the engineering and coding somehow propelled him into working with the architects and programmers who could come directly. Part of him is nervous about all the ways the project, and the newly rechristened Pan-Pacific Defense Corps, could fail, but part of him can’t help but be optimistic. The research into what the Carnegie-Mellon heads are calling “Drift” technology sounds promising so far, and it’s clear most everyone has faith in the projects.

 

“I want to join, but I’ve got to at least finish out this year at MIT.” Newton sighs. “And then… God knows where they might send me.”

“Perhaps we could request an assignment together?”

“Hmm.” Newton shifts so that he’s on his side, his chest rubbing up against Hermann’s ribs. “But would they give it to us?”

“Would they be able to?”

“I have no idea.”

Hermann runs his hand down Newton’s arm, then back up and through his hair. Newton sighs contentedly and stretches up into Hermann’s hand, reminding Hermann a little bit of a cat. “I suppose we already have the letters.”

“Yeah.” Newton falls quiet for a moment. “I’ve never really tried the long distance thing before.” His voice is quiet, with sleep or worry Hermann isn’t sure.

“I’ve never had much success in the few short distance relationships I’ve had,” Hermann admits, trying to remember clearly the last time he’d been in what he could truly call a romantic relationship with someone. How long ago was that now? Eighty years, ninety? His heart pangs as he remembers, once again, that Newton is mortal. How on earth is this going to work?

Newton traces the sparse line of hair from Hermann’s sternum to his stomach. “First time for everything, right?”

They’ll make this work. Hermann can’t imagine them not. Then again, just a few short days ago, he could hardly picture having this deep a connection with someone, this much friction. Yet he doesn’t want to imagine losing it. He sighs and nuzzles Newton’s forehead with his lips, careful to keep his mouth closed so he doesn’t accidentally cut Newton with his fangs. “I’ll try anything once.”

“Maybe we could even exchange, like, phone numbers. Like normal people who actually live in 2017.” Hermann laughs at that.

\---

The first several months are filled with letters, e-mails, and occasional texts or Skype calls. Newton is all Hermann can think about when he’s not overworking himself, trying to get the first Jaegers in shape before another kaiju attack can happen. He misses seeing Newton’s face, feeling his skin, the familiar hand on his shoulder (or on his cock), almost as if he left a piece of himself behind in Bern at first. He never knew he could feel this starved for touch, this desperate for a familiar face or such a high-pitched voice.

Gradually, though, the pain of it dulls into a low ache that he can put out of his mind when he needs to concentrate on other things. Finding time to write letters becomes more and more difficult as he moves up and down the coasts of the Americas, first sticking mainly to Anchorage and Seattle while he helps Brawler Yukon finish development, then slowly shifting farther south to oversee the new construction and overhauls of his coding work for the next Mark Is and some early plans for Mark II improvements.

He wishes he could find the time to visit Newton in person, but the constant movement and any time spent in daylight wears him out, and he has hardly any vacation time. He thinks occasionally about somehow transporting himself to Boston the same way that he can go to London or Munich if he really feels desperate for some time to himself, but he’s never been there and he can’t find the time to fly out in the first place. Besides, how on earth would he explain his sudden appearance to Newton, or any strange disappearances to the PPDC? At least when he needs time to himself back in his London flat, he can just lock himself in his room in the Shatterdome first and claim that’s where he was, but he can only manage a few hours of free time at once, and that’s not nearly enough to spend with Newton, not enough at all.

Newton hasn’t exactly managed to find time to visit him, either. His moving already makes it hard, but Newton’s struck some kind of bargain so that he’s moving as well, working for the PPDC and his college at the same time. Hermann now sometimes receives e-mails as ridiculous times of the morning, Newton cheerfully greeting him from the Phillipines or Russia before going to get sleep or a look at kaiju specimens from various attacks. Hermann has to stop himself from immediately replying and remind himself that Newton expects him to sleep like a human, making himself wait until he normally would “wake up” and chastising Newton for sleeping so little, feeling like a hypocrite the whole time.

So Hermann is rather surprised when he receives a text message telling him to be on the lookout for the next day or so. He sighs, wondering what on earth Newton could be sending him, and whether the Vancouver Shatterdome's security will be willing to let whatever Newton thinks might be a good gift in with the normal postage. Instead of receiving a package, the next morning, he hears the door to his unit's lab slam open and turns to glare at the disturbance in time to see Newton launch himself at him.

If Hermann had more blood in him at the moment, he's sure he'd be flushing the same deep red that used to afflict him when he was human. Newton doesn't seem to care that he's burying his face in Hermann's shirt in front of nearly every scientist who's worked with or under Hermann here in the last year. Or that he's very close to knocking them both into Hermann's latest equations that he just wrote on the damn blackboard. But at the same time, Hermann's a bit overwhelmed with happiness at finally seeing him in person again, at feeling Newton's arms around him for the first time in at least a year. The conflict of feelings leaves him frozen, not quite able to push Newton off or embrace him.

After a few moments, Newton notices the lack of response and looks up, clearly confused. It's enough to break Hermann's indecision; he hisses, "Could we talk somewhere more private?" Judging by the dismay on Newton's face, this was the wrong response. But Hermann can feel the stares of his coworkers on his back and really would rather not do this right here, right now.

Somehow they end up in Hermann's room, and as much as Hermann wishes he could simply kiss Newton and erase the past few moments, the distance Newton is keeping from him and the hurt, confused look in his eyes tells Hermann that it's not going to happen. "How long have you been planning this?" Hermann asks, trying to smile.

"Month or two," Newton says, glancing around. Hermann didn't bring many of his personal effects with him; when he moves so often and he can simply go back to his flat if he needs something, carrying around a lot of things doesn't make much sense. Not that he has many things to begin with. Even with his few hundred years, he's never been much of a collector, especially after seeing the state of disarray that Karla and Bastien, perpetual hoarders, live in.

Hermann makes a few awkward attempts at conversation, but Newton refuses to talk. Finally, Hermann asks, "What's wrong?"

Newton scrubs one hand over his face. "I just - Jesus, man, you're really that fucking embarrassed to be around me?"

"What?" Hermann asks, now feeling confused himself. "I am not - you are not - I simply don't enjoy such..." He gestures between them, trying to make sense of it in his own head. Of course he's always known people who think public displays of affection are no big deal, but to find out he's... for lack of a better word, dating someone who thinks they're - what, good? Necessary? "I would just rather - rather not, in front of colleagues," he says.

"Look, okay, if you're not into PDA, whatever, I get it." Hermann's not sure that Newton does understand, considering how angry he still sounds. "But, dude, you don't have to be so - so -"

"What was I supposed to do?" Hermann asks, genuinely baffled now. "All you tell me is to look out for something, which could mean just about anything, and then you just pounce on me the instant we meet?"

"It's been a year! A fucking year!" Newton's face is turning red. Hermann begins to wonder if it's possible for human beings to explode. "I'm sorry, I thought my - my boyfriend would be up for a goddamn hug!"

Hermann puts his arms out, not sure himself if he's pleading for reason or asking for a hug. "I am," he says, "I just do not appreciate such displays of - of unprofessionalism in front of other people."

"Un- unprofessional?" Newton spits out.

Hermann sighs. "It's not - it's..." He stops. This is not the way he imagined their reunion happening at all. "It's been a year, Newton," he says quietly. "Perhaps... Perhaps we should start over. Catch up a bit." He steps closer, and Newton doesn't push him away. "Have you ever been to this Shatterdome before?"

The rest of the day proceeds as awkwardly as Hermann could imagine it going. He tries to do little things like grabbing hold of Newton's arm or sliding his fingers in between Newton's as they walk around, but it doesn't seem to appease him; he pulls away or gives Hermann an odd look as often as he simply accepts the gestures. Is Hermann just doing this wrong? He honestly doesn't know what to do to fix this.

Eventually they end up back in Hermann's room, but the physical parts don't come nearly as easily as they did in Bern. At first it's strange for Hermann just to notice all the changes about Newton - he uses much less gel in his hair, his waist seems a bit larger, he has new ink traveling down his chest and back. He even smells different. Hermann wonders if it has to do with the tattoos.

Then he bites Newton.

His blood has a new, different taste, a strange tang, a sharp edge to it. Hermann can't tell what it is, but it's delicious, exciting, intoxicating. He finds it hard to stop himself when he needs to. Newton doesn't seem to mind; as before, the feeling of being fed on seems to bring him to orgasm nearly instantly, and he falls asleep quickly afterwards, the tension finally draining out of him for the first time that day. Hermann holds him close, trying to figure out what's different, finding himself coming back again and again to the thought of the taste, to the look of pleasure on Newton's face when he'd finished. Has another vampire marked him? Hermann didn't see any signs of someone else biting him, and he's never heard of a mark changing the blood's taste that way. Has something else happened to him? There's no physical sign Hermann can see...

The rest of the week that Newton is there is filled with the same strange tension that filled the first day. They can't quite seem to figure out how to fall into the easy conversation and physicality they had found when they were at the conference before. It doesn't help that Hermann can't stop worrying about (or really just thinking about) the strange new taste of Newton's blood and what might have caused it. When they finally say their goodbyes and Newton heads off, Hermann finds himself both relieved and anxious, wondering when they'll find the time to see each other again - if Newton will want to see him again.

\---

The letters continue, the frequency of them diminishing in time as both of them get busier and busier. Newton writes more when he finally leaves MIT and officially joins the PPDC, first training in Anchorage and then being sent to Sydney to head up what he's dubbed the "xenobiology" department of the PPDC's science division, but he communicates less and less frequently as he finds himself “literally up to my elbows, I am serious, it is kind of crazy” in kaiju guts.

Hermann, for his part, doesn’t mind too much. Occasionally thoughts about the awkwardness of their time together or the increasing length in time between Newton’s responses strike him, but he can push them back as he keeps himself busy with his own projects. On top of helping with the Jaeger coding, he’s begun to help with a project that’s getting close to locating the exact position of the breach between wherever the kaiju come from and the Pacific Ocean. He’s also quietly begun to work on his own theories about the frequency of kaiju attacks, the result of too many nights staying up, staring at the data about the attacks that have happened so far, feeling that something just seems off about how often the creatures come through. It’s not quite random, but he’s not sure he can find a pattern yet.

Time stretches on and little changes. The kaiju keep coming, the jaegers keep taking them out. They pinpoint the location of the “breach” between worlds, and while it does help to be able to monitor it, all it does is give them some more time to prepare and some idea of the direction kaiju head in when they appear in the sea; the actual breach never stays open long enough to do anything about it.

As Hermann looks over the data for the new attacks again and again, especially with the new accuracy the monitoring gives, he puts together more and more of a pattern, is able to create something of a formula to predict when the next attacks will happen. Despite his knowledge and all he’s done for the PPDC so far, he’s not taken seriously until he correctly predicts the date of the kaiju later known as Yamarashi’s attack. He writes to Newton about his frustration, but the reply he gets simply details Newton’s annoyances with the program’s current inability to get him fresh samples before degradation begins. Hermann sighs upon reading it, not sure if Newton intended sympathy but certainly not seeing it anywhere.

The talk that Hermann has been expecting but not exactly wanting to initiate comes late in 2018. Hermann still switches between Shatterdomes frequently to help with any Jaeger programming issues he can and to help tune up monitoring stations and such, but now he’s also traveling the Pacific coasts of the Asian countries with ‘Domes as well as the American ones. He’s not terribly surprised when the call to go to Sydney and take a look at Lucky Seven finally comes, more shocked that it took this long for him to get there. He thinks about surprising Newton in the same way Newton had surprised him, but something in him just can’t deal with the anticipation; he’s gotten the idea somewhere along the line that Newton would be more disappointed than excited to see him, and doesn’t exactly want the hypothesis confirmed by a surprise visit. He texts Newton. The only response he gets is “sweet.” Perhaps the man is just up to his literal elbows in kaiju again.

When he enters the biology lab, which is less messy than he expected after what nights together and many letters have taught him about Newton’s housekeeping habits, he’s not entirely sure how to act. There are three other people in here besides Newton, who currently has his hands full preparing slides to look at under a microscope, too lost in his work to notice that Hermann has come in. Hermann looks at him and feels a strange tightness in his chest, as if he needs to breathe and can’t pull in enough air.

It’s preposterous, really; he hasn’t needed to actually breathe in quite a long time, only doing it out of habit from his human days or in order not to scare any humans standing too close. He’s become so unfamiliar with his own emotions that he doesn’t recognize the cause until Newt looks up and gives him a small smile that doesn’t reach his eyes; some of the anxiety unwinds from Hermann’s chest, but not enough to make him comfortable. When Newton looks back down, Hermann takes a deep breath, forcing the muscles in his chest to relax, but they just wind back up again of their own accord.

Newton finishes his task as Hermann winds his way between lab tables, desks, and a few kaiju specimens floating in massive tanks full of ominous yellow liquid that look more like horror movie props than real extraterrestrial samples. He awkwardly holds out his arms, not sure exactly how to approach Hermann. Hermann can’t help but be both touched and a little bit affronted; is Newton holding back out of respect for Hermann or because he lacks the passion he had so long ago? It’s difficult to tell, and Hermann’s been thinking far too much about the implications of Newton’s most recent messages.

Hermann tries to go for a compromise between them; he clasps Newton’s arm and pulls him in close, resting his head against Newton’s neck. There’s that strange smell again; it seems even stronger than it was last time, even if Hermann only has a memory to compare it to. What is it? It bothers him. Surely he would have noticed by now if Newton was some sort of supernatural creature like himself.

Newton gives Hermann a quick tour of the Shatterdome, leaving him to work at Lucky Seven’s hangar. He does touch Hermann a few times, but it seems quick, perfunctory, not quite affectionate; a few pats on the shoulder, occasional grasping of Hermann’s hand. They meet again that night at Newton’s room. The kissing is fairly normal at first, but they’re slow to do anything else. Finally, with his shirt half off, Newton pushes Hermann away and says, “I just - I’m not feelin’ it.”

“What exactly does that mean?” Hermann asks. To be honest, he isn’t quite feeling “it” either, not the way he used to, at least.

“It, I mean –” Newton waves his hand between them. “This.”

“Us?” Hermann asks quietly.

Newton leans forward and presses his forehead against Hermann’s. “It’s not that I don’t…” he starts, and Hermann’s suddenly very aware that this is the third incomplete sentence Newton has said in a row. Goddamn his inability to speak straight. Hermann mentally chides himself for picking out that detail now of all times, for picking now of all times to start getting annoyed at all the little things. Or is it that he’s always noticed them and let them go before now? He’s not quite sure but whatever was in the past, it’s not here anymore. “I don’t – it’s just – this… this long distance thing. Not really working.”

“Do you think it would work if I moved here more permanently?” Hermann asks, already knowing the answer.

Newton slowly shakes his head. Hermann can hear the blood pounding in his forehead, feel his pulse quicken in his nervousness. He’s not enjoying this either. “Maybe we should… should take a break.”

Hermann’s the one to break away this time. “Newton, call this what this is. Don’t keep putting up such pretenses.”

“Okay, okay,” Newton says, frustrated. “We’re – we’re – ugh.” He rubs his hands over his face. “This is not… not how I saw this… ending.”

“I imagined tables being flipped and chairs being thrown,” Hermann admits. Something about this quiet petering out seems… wrong. They’re both the type to go out with a bang, not a whimper.

“I could go flip a goddamn table if that’s what you want,” Newton says, pushing himself out from under Hermann.

“That wouldn’t really benefit either of us.”

“You know what, I think that’s what I’m gonna go do.”

“Newton –“ But he’s already out the door. Hermann sighs, feeling guilty for sticking around in a room he won’t really be using.

They quietly avoid each other for the next two weeks, though Hermann hears more than his fair share of shouting, swearing, and things dropping whenever he “happens” to walk past the lab. (It’s out of his way, but he can claim that stretching his leg with a walk helps him and he can always get himself to walk up to the lab door, even if he can’t get himself to step through it.)

They haven’t even parted yet and Hermann already feels the distance, the emptiness. Something about his physicality with Newton had just worked. They were physically comfortable together in a way that Hermann hasn’t experienced in nearly a century. He used to look forward to it when he received new letters, used his memories and expectations of things to come to keep hanging on even when he felt his loneliest, could physically feel the absence of Newt’s hands running up and down his sides or the distance between their lips. Now he has nothing like that to look forward to again. He sighs in resignation, willing the itch to be touched to go away and settling for his hand when he has to, pushing away the feelings that come with the physical desires the same way he pushes off his crushes and other useless romantic drivel. This was inevitable, he reminds himself. Newton is mortal and by definition, fickle, finite. The thought doesn’t help, but it’s all he has to fall back on when he’s finished picking himself apart in trying to figure out what happened.

\---

When Hermann gets back to Anchorage, his current “home,” other people somehow begin to notice the change, even though he himself notices little. Maybe he works a little bit slower, perhaps he snaps more often when people waste time he could be using to help the Jaeger program. Sometimes it feels like that’s all he has now, the only thing he can work on in order to be useful. He keeps studying any new data on breach activity, sure that if he can just keep refining his formula, he can predict every future kaiju attack sooner, prevent further destruction.

“Ever thought about loosening up?” Hermann nearly whips around to glare at the intruder on his lab space – his coworkers have learned not to talk to him when he’s at his blackboards by now – before he registers whose voice it is. Choi, if he remembers correctly, one of the J-Tech members who came to the Anchorage ‘Dome in 2017 along with the Becket brothers and their jaegers. Hermann wouldn’t call himself “friends” with Mr. Choi – he’s not sure he would call anyone a friend nowadays, not after N – he switches thoughts. Why is Mr. Choi down here, now? Did Hermann somehow forget to send a report in?

Hermann forces himself to turn slowly, keeping his face stern but not outright angry, and replies, “I’d appreciate you not interrupting my work if you can help it.”

Choi jerks his head toward the other desks in the room, which are empty. Hermann looks around for signs of his coworkers, then glances up at the clock. Damn. He’s lost track of time. It’s nearly eight – everyone would have left their work for tomorrow and gone to eat dinner long ago. “Seriously, you should take a break. They’ve done studies, you do better if you relax a little.”

“This is not exactly a situation where we have the time,” Hermann says, trying to turn back to the board. Now, though, his concentration is broken, and he can’t block out Choi’s voice.

“C’mon, you can’t spend every minute on this, you’ll freak out.” Choi steps closer, holds up a pack of cards. Hermann is distracted by the clink of the rosary beads around his wrist and is suddenly grateful he hasn’t reached to touch Hermann. Crucifixes and such don’t have the exaggerated effect some books and TV shows have latched onto, but Hermann does not find the sensation of stepping into churches or touching religious symbols to be pleasant. “Me and the kids have a card game night around this time of the week, if nothing else is going on.” Hermann gives Choi a questioning look. “The Becket brothers and some of the other techies,” he clarifies. “Me, I’m kinda the old dog, I guess, but it’s nice to be able to whip ass on poker night. I’m sure you’re not too bad yourself.”

“I have been known to play a game or two,” Hermann admits. He’s generally more interested in the statistical probabilities of card games and the math skills it takes to count cards and play numbers games on the level of, say, the MIT scammers – he wonders if Newton ever knew or knew of them – dammit. “If you’re sure I wouldn’t be a nuisance,” he says.

“Nah,” Choi says, smiling. “The more the merrier.”

By the time they arrive, the liquor is already flowing and two games of gin rummy are underway – apparently the Beckets have been playing each other for months now with neither ever paying up – but it doesn’t take long for Choi to settle in and get a more group-friendly game started. For the most part, Hermann sits back and watches, until Choi drags him into a game of Texas Hold ‘Em and a slightly inebriated Yancy Becket insists on teaching him the utter silliness that is Egyptian Rat Screw. Hermann wonders if he could teach the others how to play bridge, but somehow he doubts they’d have the patience or sobriety required for such a game. Besides, the games don’t seem to be the point. There’s the occasional ruckus when Andre “accidentally” steals a look at Raleigh’s cards, or Sonmang spends more time flirting with Vera than playing the damn game, but there’s no bad blood from it.

Overall, Hermann’s not quite sure he enjoys it, especially since he can’t get drunk the way everyone else can, but he ends up coming back the next week. And the next. Soon he’s a regular, and he finds himself occasionally spotting someone he knows in the mess and sitting with them instead of putting his head down alone and then heading immediately back to the lab.

He becomes close enough with a few of the techs that he feels comfortable feeding off of them regularly. It doesn’t hold the same appeal as Newton did – he’s not particularly interested in them for sex, and their touch doesn’t really ease any of the ache and desire that Newton brought out of him, but they’re safe, they’re reliable, and they don’t seem to mind waking up with strange bruises or without him there. Hermann begins to understand the appeal of having bloodbonds and marked humans. He wonders if he’ll ever be close enough to one that he’ll be able to trust them with his reality. His thoughts turn to Newton; he shakes himself out of it and turns back to the card game he’s currently winning.

It becomes difficult to tell how much time is passing in the ‘Dome. Instead of having typical seasons, Alaska seems to just waver between being more and less cold. The overall positivity from the first few years of the PPDC slowly gives way to a sense of monotony, a wondering if the attacks will ever stop, or if this is simply the way life will be now. Hermann finds his new companionship tolerable, even if he still misses the physical touch of his and Newton’s relationship. He still sometimes finds himself thinking about sending another letter, but it somehow never seems quite right.

2020 happens. Raleigh is found alone on an Alaskan beach and quietly discharged from service. No one quite knows how to talk to him, and he acts as if he himself doesn’t remember how to communicate, how to even exist without Yancy by his side. His is the first jaeger to go down, but unfortunately not the last.

Lars creates the idea of the Wall of Life project. The minute Hermann hears of it and gets some time to himself, he transports himself to Germany and shouts in Lars’s face, the first time he’s raised his voice to the man that he can remember. Lars slaps him, demands to know what other options there are. Hermann refuses to talk about it, even when his cheek ends up bruised for a week, but when Mr. Choi – Tendo – asks if he and Lars are related, Hermann simply nods and asks him to pass the whiskey. Tendo whistles in sympathy and hands it over without a word. He may not be able to get drunk, but the burn of the alcohol in his throat takes his mind off things, as does the conversation that follows, Tendo obviously trying to keep his spirits up.

The budget cuts begin soon after that. Hermann watches as his coworkers either get pink slips or leave of their own accord. He can’t quite bring himself to blame them; they have families to think of. At least he just has himself to think about. Lars and his “siblings” have never really looked out for him.

An attempt to destroy the Breach results in the loss of another jaeger – and both of its pilots – and severe damage to another. Hermann takes the blow hard; he didn’t know either team personally, honestly doesn’t really get to know most pilot teams beyond what he needs to know to work with their jaegers and tech crews, but it’s too soon after Yancy and it’s his designs, the results of his hard work that are destroyed. He doesn’t understand it – how on earth does the breach even work? It doesn’t appear to exist most of the time, only popping into being when a kaiju comes through, but Hermann watches all the footage and data he can get his hands on from the jaegers and the monitoring stations that weren’t destroyed in the blast, and from what he can tell, it was open when the attempt was made. This doesn’t make sense. He starts a new project, trying to figure out anything about the structure of the Breach that he can.

\---

Eventually he gets the notice that he’s being moved to Hong Kong. It makes some amount of sense; the Hong Kong ‘Dome has one of the biggest jaeger hangars, and it’s close enough to the other Western Pacific ‘Domes that he can move among them more easily if he needs to (and the jaegers on this side of the Pacific tend to be older and in much more need of care). It’s also the closest to the Breach. The thought is not a pleasant one, but Hermann finds himself staring out into the waves when he first arrives on the ‘Dome’s roof and swears to the beasts out there that they will not take this from him.

He does not expect to see kaiju samples in his lab when he walks in. He also does not expect the mess covering one desk or the man dozing on the sofa, snoring lightly. Hermann walks up to him, recognizes the styled hair, the boots, the tattoos that crawl all the way down his arms now. For a moment, he considers smacking the man with his cane, but that would do little other than start off what is apparently their new working relationship in an even worse possible way. Instead, he sighs and turns to his blackboards, wondering how he’s going to shift them where he wants them to go with his leg.

Hermann only turns away from the boards when he hears a disgruntled “What the fuck?” from behind him. Newton stares at him, looking more bewildered than angry. “You serious?” he mumbles out, voice lowered and slurred by weariness. Hermann wonders if he’s been taking care of himself.

“It appears we are to work together for the time being,” Hermann says, trying to keep the sigh of annoyance that he can feel coming on out of his voice.

“Dreamin’,” is all Newton says in reply as he turns over and lies back down. “I’m just dreamin’.” Hermann is content to let him continue thinking that. Let this be a dream, and perhaps the rest of it shall fade in time as well.

But unfortunately, Newton wakes up, reality continues to exist in much the same manner as it has for the last several years, and the war marches on, no longer in hope for the future but with trepidation, dread, fear of which jaeger will go down next.

They don’t speak much to each other for the first few weeks they’re together. They work around each other, Hermann swallowing comments about the chaos that is Newton’s workspace and Newton clearly biting back insults about Hermann’s work habits, the scratch of his chalk making the man twitch almost as badly as Newton’s music irritates Hermann. For a while, they manage. For a while, Hermann can pretend it’s civil.

None of the techs that Hermann fed on were transferred with him; rather few people were, actually. People are much more likely to just be cut these days rather than transferred. It’s all the remaining teams can do to keep the current jaegers in what condition they can and keep LOCCENT running as needed. Now Hermann has to find new people to feed on, and now that the loneliness of not having Tendo or the other people he knew here is settling in, he might even need friends. This feels strange to Hermann. He’s spent so much of his… unlife avoiding others – especially his own kind – that he’s not quite sure what to make of this new ache. Or is it a new ache? Is it just one of those things he learned to ignore, but can’t because it’s at the forefront of his mind now?

He turns to glance at Newton as he thinks this and sighs. It would be much easier to put thoughts of the man out of his head if he didn’t have to spend his entire working day with him. Hermann had done a pretty good job keeping Newton out of his mind in Alaska, but the feelings seem to ebb back in like water wearing its way through a rock. Not to mention the smell. Thankfully he only can smell Newton when the man stands near him, but it’s enough to drive him to total distraction now, and he’s been caught staring more than once.

“Look,” Newton says sarcastically on the latest instance, “I get that my ass is still pretty appealing, but it’s not available, okay?”

“Excuse me?” Hermann says, feeling the fresh blood in his system rise to his face. He fed yesterday, why does Newton keep taking his attention? He should be full. It’s not quite the same as having a full stomach when he was a human, but still, he’s generally able to keep the vampiric bloodlust at bay when he’s fed recently.

Newton gestures in the general area of his backside, careful to try not to touch himself since his gloves are covered in Kaiju blue. It’s still potent even when it’s been preserved and sanitized to an extent. “This general area. Off-limits. You can stop looking now.”

“I was not looking at your – your posterior, you buffoon,” Hermann says with a scowl.

“What were you looking at then? My belt loops?” Newton asks.

“I have no interest in your backside. Or your front, for that matter,” Hermann says as he turns back to the chalkboard. “Not that there’s anything there to interest me.” It’s not the truth, but if Newton doesn’t like him now, there’s no sense in letting on that Hermann still has any affections.

“It is a fact that I have a great ass, Hermann. Scientific fact.”

“I am not discussing your arse with you, or any other body parts for that matter.”

Silence falls for a few moments, before Newton asks, “Not even this freakin’ sweet lymph node I have sitting right here?”

Hermann sighs. “I meant your body parts.”

“So you will discuss the finer points of this lymph node with me.”

“What makes you think I’m interested in that, either?”

“Hey, you said it was only my body parts that are off-limits.”

“That doesn’t mean I want to hear about extraterrestrial ephemera.”

“C’mon, we’ve gotta talk about _something._ It’s fuckin’ quiet in here.”

“Not particularly,” Hermann says, aiming his glare at Newton’s iPod and speakers.

“You know what I mean.” Newton waves his arms. Hermann hopes the blue on his gloves is dry. “This place feels dead. Gotta do something to keep the blood flowing.”

“That something is not talking,” Hermann says, finally turning back to his boards and attempting to ignore the rest of Newton’s attempts to start a conversation.

After a while, the lab falls into blessed quiet again, Newton still talking but this time muttering annoyed phrases under his breath instead of directly trying to engage Hermann. This is easier to ignore. Hermann contentedly steps back and starts to review what’s he’s written so far when his ears are assaulted by what he can only call noise that pretends to have a melody. “Turn that down!” he shouts. His own vitriol surprises him. He’s not exactly the type to raise his voice; what’s gotten into him lately? When Newton pretends not to hear (Hermann’s sure he’s pretending, this music isn’t enough to deafen him even though it’s atrociously high), Hermann walks over and turns down the speakers himself.

“Hey, no touchy!” Newton shouts.

“I would like to keep my eardrums intact, Dr. Geiszler,” Hermann says coolly, “and unfortunately, you still need yours as well, so I would thank you not to blast them out with such appalling… music.” It’s difficult to bring himself to even call it that, but he can at least pretend to have respect for whatever Newton’s into.

Newton glares at him and comes over, ripping his glove off so he can turn the volume back up. Thankfully, it’s not as high this time, even if it is still far too loud. Hermann groans. He supposes this is what they’ll have to call compromise. “It’s Newt,” Newton says with a huff of annoyance.

“Why should I not call you by your title?” Hermann asks.

“Dude, we’ve been – we’re not – that’s not us!” Newton says. “Besides, normal people who work together are usually on first-name basis.”

“Are we really working together?”

“For some goddamn reason, yeah,” Newton says. “I don’t like it either, but you could at least stop pretending you don’t know me. You’re better than that.”

Hermann stares at Newton, not quite sure what to say to that. In the end, he doesn’t say anything. He simply retreats back to his board, swearing a little at the number of sample tanks he has to weave between before he reaches his own workstation.

\---

The disorganization and intrusion of Newton’s things into Hermann’s space leads to more arguments and fights. One night after Hermann slips on some unidentifiable goop that’s far too near his chalkboard, he gets annoyed enough that he grabs a tin of paint that Newton has for whatever strange reason and marks off his half of the room with a line of stripes down the floor. It might possibly be one of the most immature things he’s ever done, but he can’t deny how satisfying it feels to watch Newton move most of the samples into some kind of order on his side of the room.

There’s also something strangely satisfying just about the fighting with Newton. It’s certainly not the same kind of relaxing or socializing as card game night, especially since he has to come in and see Newton day in and day out. (Both of them rarely take breaks, though Newton slowly starts to take more naps on the couch and falling asleep at his desk more often. Hermann can’t blame him; he’s only human. Perhaps Hermann should start taking more breaks so he doesn’t feel he has to keep up…) But it keeps him going, and it’s nice to be able to express his frustration in some way. And he and Newton manage to keep it from getting too personal, for the most part.

It’s also surprisingly helpful in Hermann’s work. He and Newton push each other to work harder, to talk through their processes, to point out flaws (even if it’s just fling them in each other’s faces). Newton refuses to admit he doesn’t entirely get Hermann’s mathematical models of the Breach, so Hermann starts creating computer models – and finds that the marshals have an easier time understanding his theories when he shows them along with one of his reports. Newton actually turns most of his paperwork in on time with Hermann’s prodding and has an easier time presenting his findings when he figures something out.

But still, it’s just not enough. Two people can’t do the work of an entire lab, no matter how hard they try. Some nights see Hermann practically shoving Newton out of the lab, or covering him in his own parka when Newton simply falls asleep at his desk. (Newton may make fun of how large and ugly it is, but he can’t deny its warmth.) Some days see Newton slamming a tray down on Hermann’s desk when Hermann forgets to eat human food – or occasionally even blood – to keep up his cover.  Newton throws kaiju entrails, but never lets Hermann slip on them. Hermann insults Newton daily, but keeps all of his machines running. They do what they can.

The number of kaiju rises almost exponentially, the way Hermann predicted. More jaegers fall. Shatterdomes start to close down completely. The announcement of the PPDC’s complete loss of funding is devastating, but not shocking. It’s almost a welcome sight to see the last remaining workers flock to Hong Kong, even if there’s nary a scientist among them.

Hermann waits outside LOCCENT for an hour just to see Tendo in himself. They shake hands and give each other thin smiles. “So, when’s a good night for poker?” Tendo asks.

“I think right now, any time might work,” Hermann surmises. He wonders if he should invite Newton. Perhaps he sees the man a little too much these days.

Marshal Pentecost takes over the Hong Kong Shatterdome and gets it running smoothly in short order. Hermann can’t help but be impressed by his leadership, his faith even in the face of their impending destruction. He’s also impressed by his daughter, Mako. She comes to him when she starts working on the remodel of the Becket boys’ jaeger, asking for guidance with her designs. Her ideas are brilliant and she’s an incredible engineer. It saddens him to think that she may be the last of the Jaeger pilots, if she gets the chance to join the fray at all.

More unsettling activity comes from the area around the Breach. Pentecost asks Hermann and Newton to come up with plans for attacking the Breach. Hermann has no idea what they can do differently this time – their current data doesn’t provide much more than he could use the last time they tried. Nonetheless, he develops what theories he can, driven on by Pentecost’s own determination. Newton seems to have found some inspiration too, pushing himself harder than ever. When Hermann asks about his theories, he just shakes his head, too deep in concentration on his work to explain. He hardly ever leaves the lab now, only retreating when he absolutely has to eat or Hermann can force him to go sleep in a proper bed instead of collapsing onto the nearest flat surface.

\---

Pentecost’s final plan is decided on. Hermann leaves the lab to watch the last of the jaegers roll in; it’s hard to believe that these four jaegers are all that are left of ten years of his work, ten of the most important years of his life. His chest tightens as he thinks through all the various scenarios that could occur over the next weeks. According to his predictions, this is the last chance they really have, jaegers or no. Soon the Breach will open wide enough and long enough for double events, triple events, and even the best teams won’t be able to stop a flood of the creatures.

He takes a deep breath, loosens his chest. They can do this. They will destroy the Breach. There’s nothing else they can do, and they will do it. Humanity’s managed to survive this long even with its own self-destructive tendencies. They will not go gently into the night.

Someone taps him on the shoulder. Hermann whirls around, surprised to see Newton standing behind him. “Thought you might be here,” Newton says with a tired smile. Exhaustion deepens the few creases starting to line his face. His stubble and hair are both wild. Hermann, before he can think about it, reaches out to straighten the man’s collar under his worn leather jacket. He’s a mess. When’s the last time he slept properly for more than a few hours? As soon as the operation starts, Hermann is going to get him into a bed.

“Am I that predictable?” Hermann asks. Well, he probably is. He hasn’t changed very much in hundreds of years. Then again, he reflects on the past few years, and perhaps he is a bit different…

“Well, yeah. You’re an old guy, you have your habits.” Hermann stiffens a little at that; Newton has no idea how right he is. Newton points up in the hangar towards Cherno Alpha’s docking station, where the Russian tank slowly rolls into place, guided by her crewmen and pilots. “You work on her at all?”

“The base coding,” Hermann says. She wasn’t one of his personal projects, but the sight of her still makes the corner of his mouth quirk up into a smile. Amazing that a Mark I could last this long. “The Russians tweaked what they needed themselves. She’s an early model, but she’s strong.”

Newton nods. “Gotta love Russians,” he says. “They know how to make their rust buckets last.”

Hermann snorts in annoyance. Of course he’d say something ridiculous like that. “Don’t let them hear you call it that.”

“Hey, they did better than we ever could,” Newton says, shrugging. As he lifts his hand, Hermann notices the umbrella in one hand, and his own parka tucked under one arm. Newton holds it out to him. “I have some new samples coming in with Striker. Mind helping me make sure the idiots don’t destroy them?”

“The tech crews aren’t stupid, Newton,” Hermann chides as he slides the parka on and follows Newton, putting the jacket on with one hand and using his cane with the other. It’s a wonder he hasn’t slipped and fallen yet.

It becomes even more of a wonder that he doesn’t slip when they step out onto the roof, into the torrential rain. Hermann has himself completely zipped up and his hood pulled down, but it doesn’t help much when the water pounds down so hard it hits sideways. Hermann shivers. At least it’s nearly sunset and the sky is completely covered in clouds; the sun’s not down, so he’s still vulnerable, but the cloud cover keeps him from being weakened too badly. He watches helicopters fly towards the ‘Dome in the distance before turning to help Newton, who’s shouting at some unfortunate workers who’ve accidentally driven two of his carts together.

They somehow manage to load the tanks into the elevator without anything slipping off the wet carts and crashing to the ground. Hermann nearly has to drag Newton away from swearing at the crews again; Hermann can’t totally blame them for the sloppy job, with how wet the roof is and all the other commotion going on with helicopters landing. They barely catch the elevator back down.

Hermann glares at Newton as he pulls his hood down. Once he’s visible, he turns and nods his head slightly at Pentecost and Mori, who are here with them. So Pentecost is back from his mission to find the Becket boy. That means…

“These are human beings, Hermann, say hello,” Newton says arrogantly as he pulls his jacket off.

If looks could kill, Newton would be a zombie several times over. They start another argument before Pentecost interrupts them and introduces them to Raleigh. Hermann freezes, stuck for something to say as he looks at the young man. He seems so much older than he did five years ago. Their eyes meet. The grim determination in Raleigh’s gaze says all that he needs to.

Then Newton makes the mistake of telling Raleigh how awesome the kaiju are. Hermann thinks about strangling him right then and there. “Could you make a worse first impression?” he hisses as the elevator closes behind the marshal.

“Come on, that guy’s a total meathead,” Newton says, completely nonchalant. He must be truly worn out, to have this little care or consciousness in how he presents himself.

“That ‘meathead’ lost his brother to the kaiju,” Hermann growls, “and he’s coming back to save our sorry behinds. You’d do well to respect him. And myself.”

Newton gives him a long look. The elevator stops, but they still simply look at each other. Newton shakes his head. “Whatever, man.” He refuses to look at Hermann, or to thank him for holding the elevator door while Newton wheels out the samples.

\---

When Hermann hears the idea, he knows Newton can’t go through with it. He simply can’t. The attempt will kill him. Hermann considers taking him by the shoulders and shaking him, but he knows Newton won’t listen no matter what he says. “You’ll kill yourself,” he warns as he walks off, needing to find some way to cool down before he starts truly screaming at Newton. He likes the man, he truly does, and his feelings still run a bit too deep for his comfort. He doesn’t want to get in a real fight with him, not now.

He finds himself in the jaeger bay again, watching the final repairs and finishing touches get applied to Striker and Danger. It’s hard to believe that within a week, their job will be done – for better or worse. He sighs.

“Kind of a déjà vu moment, huh?” Tendo asks. Hermann jerks. With the noise of the crowd and the machinery going in the bay, he gets snuck up on too easily. “Weird how things come back around.”

“Indeed,” Hermann says. He’s not quite sure he’s up for talking right now.

Tendo clasps his shoulder. “We’ve got Becket back. Why don’t we make this a special reunion card game night? Winner gets my coffee stash.”

“What a treat,” Hermann says with a small smile. If he wins, he’ll likely just hand it right back – there’s no point in wasting Tendo’s precious stash that’s been with him since his work in Lima on someone who only eats and drinks to convince other people he’s “normal.” But seeing Becket again does sound good, especially if he can set this afternoon right.

The night ends early, with everyone wanting to get up early to watch Becket’s candidate match-ups. Hermann supposes he’ll probably watch; he has nothing better to do at this point. Unable to even pretend to sleep, he finds himself wandering around the ‘Dome, unwilling to go back to the lab and face Newton quite yet. He ends up on the roof, watching the moon’s reflection break up in the dark waves far below. Hermann sucks in and slowly blows out a deep breath, taking in the salty air. There’s a tinge of something familiar in it, but he can’t quite recognize it, figure out where it’s from. He lets it go. The roof right now is the only respite from seeing workers constantly scurrying around, from the tension filling the halls.

Everyone is aware of how little time they have left, how little chance they have of seeing this through successfully. It hangs in the air, it lives in the tense looks on everyone’s faces and the quick, stressed, anxious movements of all the people here as they attend to their tasks. Hermann can practically smell the adrenaline and fear spreading through blood as more and more people succumb to panic or use it to keep themselves going. He takes another deep breath.  He hates the taste of adrenaline; it’s part of why he likes to have relaxed donors to feed on. Being able to clear it from his lungs even for just a few hours is nice.

Hermann sighs as the moon dips below the horizon and the first rays of light begin to break over the ocean. He should go before he gets sick. He should make sure Newton doesn’t do anything stupid today.

Too late, he heads down to the lab. Too late, he smells the strange, intoxicating smell of Newton, stronger than ever. Too late, he crosses the threshold to find the man bleeding on the ground. Hermann runs over without a second thought, screaming Newton’s name, ripping the shoddy Pons cap from his head, holding him close and listening to his heart’s frantic beats.

It takes several minutes for Hermann to reassure himself that Newton will be alright. His pulse is somewhat uneven and his breaths unsteady, his hands shaking and the rest of his body vibrating as if he’s been shocked, but whatever happened is over and Newton will live, at least. Hermann makes him tell him his name and where they are, and tries to do more, but Newton finally just shouts, “I don’t care who the goddamn president is, get me the marshal!”

Hermann can’t help but pace around the elevator, cursing its slowness as it rises to LOCCENT. This would happen when Danger’s first test is starting. Newton’s always had awful timing. Hermann looks down, realizes two of his fingers are covered in Newton’s blood – thank god it was just a nose bleed – and licks it off before he can stop to think about it. The tang is still there, stronger than ever. An overwhelming desire overtakes Hermann until the sound of the elevator door opening pulls him out of his head. He’s rather glad he left Newton on the floor below. He can’t become a danger to Newton himself, not now. He makes sure his lips cover his fangs before he runs screaming into LOCCENT.

When they get back to Newton, Hermann fears that there’s been more damage than he saw. The man is still shaking violently, and the words that come out of his mouth are gibberish. A hivemind? Clones? Kaiju controlled by other creatures? How is that possible? Hermann spits out his objection before he thinks further about it, but as Pentecost silences him and Newton continues to ramble, Hermann thinks about the pattern and it all begins to make horrible, sickening sense. The Breach isn’t opening on some random mathematical principle; it’s being ripped open by aliens who can do their own calculations, who can figure out the most opportune times to make the volatile connection. Hermann hasn’t felt this nauseated since he was human. How could he not have noticed, even with all his suspicions?

He doesn’t have much time to think about it when he finally tunes back in to Pentecost telling Newton to go to Hannibal Chau. Newton flips the red card that Pentecost handed him between his fingers. “Don’t you dare do this,” Hermann manages to growl once Pentecost leaves the lab.

Newton looks up at Hermann. He doesn’t look annoyed or angry, the way he normally does when they argue. He’s steely, determined. “Hermann, I have to.”

“Look what happened this time,” Hermann says, waving his hand at Newton’s – his contraption and the still kaiju brain. “The only reason you’re not dead right now is because –”

Newton interrupts him by stepping closer and putting his hands on Hermann’s shoulders. “Because you saved me.” He stares Hermann in the eyes. “I know. But I have to. I can’t let them – let them –” He falls silent, trying to express everything he wants to say with the look on his face.

Hermann feels the corners of his eyes burn and prickle as if he could cry. Why is today bringing out all the human reactions buried within him? He reaches up and grasps Newton’s arms. “Be – be careful,” he says, even though he knows it won’t happen. Newton will always be Newton, and Newton is nothing if not reckless, a risk taker. That’s what got them where they are now, for good or for ill.

Newton nods and swallows. “You better be waiting for me,” he says, not letting go.

“You wait for me,” Hermann says. “I’m not letting you die, not now.”

“Thanks,” Newton says, with a forced smile. He leans in as if to hug Hermann before letting go. Hermann stays seated, watching him shrug on his jacket and leave the lab. He shudders before he stands and circles the Pons, wondering what he can do in the time they have to improve it and keep it from destroying Newton a second time.

The alert of a double event comes to LOCCENT, sooner than even Hermann had expected. Everyone watches in terror as Typhoon and Cherno go down, as Striker stops moving and the electricity cuts out. Hermann finds himself silently repeating a prayer over and over in his mind, one he hasn’t thought about in centuries. He grips Tendo’s shoulder as they get Danger up and running, accidentally brushes the rosary and draws back as it burns his fingers. He stares at it and shouts wordlessly to whatever god may be up there to keep Newton and the remaining pilots safe.

Hermann’s undead heart leaps into his throat as reports come in from the helicopters who follow Otachi to the city and keep their eyes on Danger and Leatherback in lieu of LOCCENT’s viewscreen. He can barely relax even when Danger safely lands with both kaiju dead. When Pentecost tells him to go to Newton, he salutes and runs off, more than happy to make sure Newton is okay.

The first thing Hermann notices as the helicopter nears Otachi’s landing site is the smell. It’s familiar in a sickening way. He feels nauseated for the second time in twenty-four hours. The entire place reeks of the strange tang that permeates Newton’s blood, but it’s too much for his sensitive nose, to the point that it’s almost sour. Hermann’s chest tightens so much he wonders if something within him might explode as he realizes what it is. No. Newton can’t be… he can’t be –

Hermann can’t think about that now. He sees a tiny figure covered in dirt gesture wildly at the helicopter from – oh, god, is that _another_ kaiju? Though it’s larger than the helicopter, it’s still much too small, less than a quarter the size of a category one. Hermann wants to demand an explanation, but his walkie-talkie comes to life before he can ask.

There are only two kaiju coming out of the breach. This is wrong. There should be three. He shouts back and forth with Newton for a bit, grateful for a tiny bit of normalcy in this insane circumstance, as he works away at some final touches on the Pons.

Newton looks as though he might cry when Hermann says he’ll share the neural load. It’s the only thing Hermann could think of in so short a time; Newton had grabbed several squid caps when assembling the Pons in case one he tried to use was broken, and Hermann knows for certain that Newton will die if he goes in alone again. Perhaps Hermann can’t stop him from dying, though he hopes it’ll be enough, but at the very least, Hermann can survive with his inhuman mind long enough to get the information they need back to LOCCENT.

He doesn’t think about the fact that Newton will be able to see inside his head until Newton slams the button and he finds himself face to face with Newton’s own memories. He watches Newton grow from child to gawky teenager to restless adult, feels ink scratched into his skin and blood drawn, hears him protest and fight and scream and cry – watches him watch himself, watches himself writhing in Newton’s arms, feels the pain as Hermann bites him, _what the fuck,_ watches him study a chart with his name on it in dismay at the results, watches Hermann snap at him day in and day out…

The flood gives way to a new torrent of kaiju memories. They perform some mental equivalent of linking hands, dive in, find the information they need, tear themselves away before the overwhelming hivemind can rip them apart. When Hermann comes to, he can’t help but vomit, his system for the moment shocked into thinking it’s human again. At least his nosebleed is short, and the smell covers up Newton’s irresistible taste. He looks up to see Newton holding out a handkerchief, all kinds of questions dancing across his face. Hermann can even hear them in his head, which is frightening.

They have more important things to worry about. “You saw it?”

“Yeah.”

“Did you?”

Newton grabs Hermann’s arms. “The jaegers, the Breach, the plan, it’s –“

Hermann nods. “It’s not going to work.” He climbs to his feet with Newton’s help.

Newton starts to pull himself away, towards the helicopter. “Quick, we have to –“

Hermann grips his wrists. “There’s no time.”

“What?”

“We need to get there now!” Hermann shouts. “They could already be setting the bomb off for all we know!” Newton’s eyes widen. “Do you trust me?” Hermann asks. He feels thoughts flash through Newton’s head, overwhelming the both of them for a moment, before Newton swallows and nods. Hermann pulls him close. “Hold on tight.” He closes his eyes.

When he opens them, they’re both standing in the halls of the Shatterdome. Newton looks like he might vomit himself. Before Hermann can react, Newton gives him a quick squeeze and runs off. Hermann follows close behind.

It all happens so quickly that it feels completely unreal later. Everyone waits with bated breath as Striker sets off its own bomb, as Danger disappears into the Breach and the escape pods appear in minutes that feel like hours. The room explodes into cheers as Raleigh’s voice crackles over his suit’s microphone. Newton and Hermann take enough time to congratulate the others around them before they sink into each other, too exhausted for words.

They stumble from LOCCENT after everyone else flows out, heading towards the jaeger bay for an impromptu celebration of the world’s continued existence. Newton is too tired to hold himself up anymore, and all of Hermann’s running around makes him desperate for blood, for rest.

“We need to go to Medical,” Hermann grunts as they slowly make their way to the elevator.

“No.”

“Newton, you need-”

“No!”

Hermann turns and grabs him by the shoulders. It takes all the willpower he has not to shake the little man; anymore trembling and he’ll fall to pieces. He already might be. “When were you going to tell me?”

“Like you can say anything about keeping secrets!” Newton shouts back. His confusion, anger, and hurt pours over Hermann’s mind. Hermann pulls him close; his embrace is practically the only thing keeping Newton on his feet.

“Mine isn’t killing me,” Hermann says quietly. It hurts to think, much less to put into actual words and speak. Newton, his Newton, is – is –

“Does yours kill anyone else?” Newton asks.

Hermann looks down at him, sees the exhaustion threatening to pull him to the ground in spite of Hermann’s attempts to keep him vertical. “Perhaps we should have this conversation somewhere else.” Newton is too weak to do anything but sigh and nod.

Eventually, somehow, they find themselves slumped against each other on the lab’s couch. Hermann has his nose buried in Newton’s hair, his arm wrapped around Newton’s waist. Newton presses his face into Hermann’s neck, slips his hand under Hermann’s coat and against his side. “To answer your question,” Hermann says quietly, “no, I don’t kill anyone. Not if I can help it.”

“I can’t believe I thought you were just giving me weird-ass hickeys,” Newton says into Hermann’s skin. It makes Hermann shiver.

“It’s easier to let you just believe what you think is most plausible.” Hermann regrets never telling him, but how was Newton supposed to believe him? The drift may have been the only real way to confirm for real what Hermann is; he can’t fake his own memories.

“I do tend to be a little bit oblivious,” Newton admits. Hermann snorts. “Okay, so I don’t see what’s right in front of my own nose half the time. Whatever. I see enough to get my shit done.”

“You’ve got to learn to look before you leap,” Hermann says. He shifts so that he can pulls Newton’s broken, near-useless glasses off and kiss his temple, careful to keep his mouth closed so his fangs don’t accidentally cut the delicate skin. “Oh, Newton, if only you’d learned that earlier…”

“If I had,” Newton says with annoyance, “we never would have gotten together.”

Hermann thinks about it. Newton had been the one pushing for them to meet, to see each other face to face, to kiss and keep taking their relationship farther even when they really didn’t know each other at all. “I suppose.”

“I wouldn’t have drifted. I wouldn’t have saved the world.”

“You wouldn’t have gotten sick.” Now that he’s been near unsanitized kaiju, he knows what the smell of Newton’s blood is laced with. Kaiju blue. It’s a more subtle infection than the typical fast killer that most people witness, but it’s unmistakable. And Newton is far past the point of getting treated for it, has been for years now. It explains at least some of his fatigue, other symptoms he’d been able to hide a bit better like the effects on his concentration and memory.

Hermann feels Newton smile into his collarbone. “Knew I was gonna have to pay the price for being so goddamn brilliant one day.”

“That’s not how it works,” Hermann says, pulling Newton tighter against him.

“Hope I die before I get old,” Newton quips. When he feels Hermann’s revulsion and confusion, he groans. “Of course you wouldn’t know the Who, you musically illiterate old man.” He takes a deep, shuddering breath. Hermann doesn’t realize what’s happening until he feels warm wetness drip onto his own skin. “Never exactly thought I’d actually, y’know, be following that particular rock star example.”

Hermann plants another kiss, this time to the shell of Newton’s ear. “You don’t have to,” he whispers.

Newton pulls away just enough to look at him. “You’re saying…”

“I could try.” Hermann looks him over. “It’s a risk. The change can heal a lot, but I don’t know about this.”

Newton stares at him. “Do you really want to? You think you can – can live with me?”

“It’s your decision,” Hermann says firmly, “and you’re the one who has to live with it afterwards. Don’t let me influence you.” He knows that his feelings are sliding into Newton’s mind the same way all of Newton’s shifting emotions are pushing into his, so he says, “I know that’s basically impossible at this point. I’m – I’m not sure I can live without you.”

Newton’s tears flow faster. “How’m I supposed to not let that make my decision for me?” he asks between sobs.

“I’m sorry, Newton,” Hermann whispers.

“I thought I’d – I’d gotten over it, that I’d accepted it,” Newton chokes out as his tears keep falling. “God, living forever seems – seems awful but I don’t – I don’t want to – I don’t wanna die!”

Hermann holds him close. For a while they don’t speak. Hermann strokes Newton’s hair as he listens to his sobs grow louder, then subside. Newton clings to him as if he’s a lone piece of driftwood keeping Newton afloat in the vast ocean. Hermann feels so many emotions whirl through Newton that he stops being able to decipher what’s what; he’s not even sure Newton knows what he’s feeling. Finally, with one last, deep breath, Newton says, “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Let’s do it.” Newton looks up into Hermann’s eyes. “Now. I know you want me to stop being so reckless, but god, if we don’t do it now, I know I never will.”

Hermann sighs. “I know I told you that too, but…” He brushes the last of Newton’s tears away. “Forgive me for being a selfish old man. I’ve finally found the only thing, the only _person,_ I’ve ever wanted, and I’m not letting him be torn away like this.”

It’s a simple process, really. Hermann pulls back Newton’s collar, hoping he won’t get any more blood on it, and presses his teeth against a part of Newton’s neck that isn’t inked. He can feel Newton’s pulse hammering in his fear. Before either of them can think too hard about this, can let the fright stop them, Hermann bites down, drinks deep.

Even with the disgusting version of the smell still fresh in his memory, Hermann can’t help but enjoy the sensation of the blue-infected blood as it trickles down his throat. He has no idea what makes it so alluring, hopes it’s not infecting him too. He hasn’t smelled that same smell on himself, at least, and so he hopes that the vampiric blood is enough.

Once he’s drained Newton to the point where the man starts to go limp under him, he stops. Newton looks like he’s about to pass out, eyes starting to roll back, breathing uneven and shallow. Quickly, Hermann pulls back his shirt cuff and pulls his own teeth across his skin, raking deep enough to draw his blood forth. He wishes he’d fed more recently, that he had more to give, but Newton’s own blood should be sufficient to keep him going until he can feed again. He holds his wrist up to Newton’s mouth.

At first Hermann’s worried that he took too much, that Newton’s too far gone to take in Hermann’s blood. Soon enough, though, Newton starts swallowing, coughing as his body reacts in revulsion to the taste and the feel. Hermann simply keeps pressing his wrist to Newton’s lips, hoping it’ll take fast. Newton laps at his wrist, moaning a little bit as he drinks more and more.

He doesn’t know when to stop. To be honest, Hermann doesn’t know either, but he’s starting to feel a little light-headed and hopes that he’s given enough. He pulls his arm away and presses his fingers to the cut, making sure his skin knits together properly as the wound heals even faster than his bite to Newton’s neck had.

Hermann holds Newton close for hours, feeling him go limp and fade into unconsciousness, keeping him from falling to the floor when his body starts to shiver and convulse. He stops breathing. Hermann stops breathing with him, and for several moments, all hope leaves him. He presses his forehead to Newton’s, wishing he could cry as his dry eyes burn.

Finally, finally, Newt sucks in a long, shallow, rasping breath. “H-Hermann?” he mumbles, quiet, hesitant, as if he hasn’t spoken in years.

“I’m here, Newton,” Hermann tells him. “I’m here.”

“It’s Newt,” Newton says, slightly annoyed. Hermann holds his own breath as Newton falls silent again. He begins to shake again, partially uncontrollable spasms and part shifting writhing, grunting and squirming as if he’s in pain. Hermann continues to hold him, even as he wrestles against Hermann’s grip.

Hermann looks up, surprised, when he hears another voice. “You guys okay?” Tendo stands in the doorway of the lab, looking concerned. Hermann looks down at himself and Newton crying out in his lap and realizes how this must look. “I can call Medical if –“

“We’re fine,” Hermann says, hoping he sounds convincing. He knows his own voice is unsteady. “We’re fine.”

“You sure?” Tendo moves to step into the lab.

“Yes,” Hermann says, willing him not to move any closer. He doesn’t know when Newton’s going to finish the change, and he doesn’t want Tendo to be here when a newborn vampire needs to look for blood. Oh no, he should have thought about that. How’s he going to keep Newton under control enough to learn to not give in to his own urges?

“Let me know when he wakes up, okay?” Tendo says. “We can’t lose you guys on top of everything else.”

“You won’t,” Hermann promises, squeezing Newton as he shouts again in pain.

“You’re sure you’re okay?”

“I promise,” Hermann says, hoping that Tendo will please leave.

Tendo stares at them for a long moment, but finally he goes. Hermann sighs in relief.

It takes maybe another hour for Newton to come to. He slowly opens his eyes, looks up at Hermann. “Am I alive?” he asks.

“Depends on who you ask,” Hermann says, slumping back into the sofa cushion as the tension slowly leaves him.

“Being alive hurts,” Newton mutters. He licks his teeth, grunts as his tongue catches on his new fangs.

“Be careful,” Hermann says, pulling Newton into a sitting position, surprised at how easy it is to still get exasperated with the other man.

“Will you ever stop telling me that?” Newton asks as he starts to stretch his arms and legs, checking that everything still works the way it did before.

“I hope I never have to,” Hermann says, giving his shoulders one last squeeze before letting go of him.

Newton leans in and kisses him on the lips, slotting his tongue into Hermann’s mouth, carefully exploring Hermann’s own fangs. “Good,” he says when he pulls away. “Now let’s find me something to eat. I’m fuckin’ starving.”


End file.
